The bath water had long since gone cold, but smoke was still streaming from the end of her cigarette. Her head rested lifelessly on the edge of the tub as she watched the toxic exhales of tobacco twist in the air and disappear into the ceiling. She took a long drag, clouding up her lungs before letting it pour from her mouth with a sigh.
The paint was chipping from the walls to reveal a dingy grey underneath what she imagined must have once been a pasty white. If she'd had the will, she would have snorted and rolled her eyes sarcastically. The metaphor was so heavy handed that she could practically hear Reality shamelessly laughing in her face.
"You're dying," it mocked, "you're cracked and peeling. Look at all that wasted potential."
Her throat tightened as the thought floated around in the water before her. If all her tears were not already dried on her face, she might have cried some more.
After one last puff, she smashed the cigarette out. The remaining ashes tumbled into the bath water while the butt slipped through her fingers and landed at the tub's tarnished and clawed feet. Using more energy than should have been necessary, the ghostly girl heaved herself up out of the stale water, swinging her legs over the edge and positioning her feet flat on the floor. She wrapped a ratty, blue towel around her shivering body and stepped out into the parlor.
The rest of the apartment was no less depressing than the bathroom. A screen had been pulled over her eyes and no matter where she looked, the patches of grey sheetrock and aging wallpaper screamed at her that she was alone.
She was always alone these days.
Eventually, she found herself at the window that overlooked the lively streets. With the towel still hanging from her worn frame, she curled up on the sil. She watched the raindrops streak down the glass, leaving watery trails much like the ones that were now crusted onto her own cheeks. The world looked blurry and distorted beyond the window pane, but it gave her a rush of satisfaction to see the weather embodying her innermost feelings.
The day crept on without regard to the modern construct of time. She owned no clocks and could only gauge the passage of time by how many records she listened to, how many books she read, and how many words she wrote. The only way to escape her pain was to shield herself from it, and in her experience, these were the most effective ways to do so.
Only when the sun receded into the shadow of the moon did she finally unlock her window and crawl out to her favorite spot on the roof. The rain had calmed to a very light sprinkling and it dusted her face delicately.
The weight of the pipe that rested in the palm of her hand brought her great comfort as she drew her legs to her chest and flicked the lighter on. Again she permeated her lungs with a deep inhale of smoke. As she succumbed to the relaxing sensation that washed over her, she also succumbed to the darkness as the lights around her died one by one.
The whole city was falling asleep, but the girl on the roof just watched, waiting to be swallowed by the blackness once again.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Records
Short Story"I've been injected with Music by the needle of a record player." ~Me To know my music is to know my soul. A simple collection of music and thoughts.
